Fortune's Fools
by Twitch's Charade
Summary: Camp Green Lake has re-opened after the events of Holes. Three mysterious girls in a stolen car have crashed into the middle of the scene. The result involves lies and secrets, love and betrayal, a web of dark mysteries that steadily leads to mayhem.
1. Prologue

Author's Note: In this fanfic, there are girls. The girls do indeed end up at Camp Green Lake. I even took a huge risk and threw some romance into this plot I've formed in my mind. _However. _Please take the following points into consideration:

*Camp Green Lake does _not_ randomly turn co-ed. There are reasons and explanations, involving a car wreck, a phone book, and a secret. ^_^

*There _is_ a plot. And from what I have figured out so far, romance is not going to be one of the "central" themes.

*I don't take my OCs lightly. I've tried my darnedest to make the three girls in this story interesting, original, and well-developed characters. (*hugs Minion, my beloved little semi-sociopath*)

*The plot happens to involve a lot of...well...insanity. Tension. Twists and turns. What have you.

In a nutshell, I'm trying hard to take an atypical angle on the "girls at CGL" theme. So please don't mentally discard the fic due to fear of cliché. Give it a chance. O:-)

Much Love,

Charade

(Who eats, breathes, and lives for reviews ^.~)

Quick note to any readers of Put It In Gear: Yes, I am most definitely still working on it. Yes, I am insane for starting another fic at the same time. No, this one has no connection to it. Love ya all!

~Rade

Disclaimer: I don't own _Holes,_ its characters, or Camp Green Lake. Louis Sachar does. I guess Disney has some claim to them too now. I'm not making any money off them. Actually, I'm currently deeply in debt. So leave me alone. Oh: I do own Comet, Pretzel, and Minion. Don't steal them. As the great Brooky Jones said of her characters, you could never love them as much as I do.

Fortune's Fools

By Charade O'Falon

Prologue

Some people don't believe in curses. Some people don't believe in yellow-spotted lizards, either. I happen to believe in both, having had the misfortune of experiencing the effects of the former, and meeting the latter in the flesh.

            Some people don't believe that a girl who is four feet and nine inches tall could hotwire a car and drive it across Texas, sitting on a phone book to reach the steering wheel. Some people don't believe that a beautiful rebel full of dreams could betray everything to which she once pledged love and loyalty, and allow her life to spin out of control. Some people don't believe that a person who had never known a dose of love in her life could suddenly find herself with one dose too many, and end up tearing apart everything she once thought she knew and seeking the truth with a greater strength than she had realized she possessed.

            If you happen to be one of those people, one who doubts that such events are possible, then this story was written for you. Sit back, relax, read and review...and believe.


	2. Chapter One: The First Bombshell

Chapter One: The First Bombshell

_Reformed, _they told us solemnly, told each of us, and our parents, and our counselors and social workers, and anyone else they had to convince, knowing perfectly well that we, at least, were far beyond convincing.

            _Reformed._

They weren't talking about us. The bad kids. The juvenile delinquents. The boys who had, until barely a month before, been living at Camp Green Lake Juvenile Correctional Facility, dwelling in tents in the middle of the Texas desert, and digging holes all day under the blazing hot sun.

            No, of _course_ it wasn't _we_ who had supposedly "reformed." It was _they._ The ones whose very names we dreaded hearing, whose voices we heard and whose faces we saw in our nightmares. The ones who had been our captors, our slave-drivers, our hated guardians for those long days, weeks, months that had made up our grueling individual stays at the so-called "camp." The affectionate term _reformed_ was reserved for the three criminals at Camp Green Lake who had not been there as a punishment for their crimes. Their crimes had then been unknown to anyone but themselves, though perhaps suspected by us from time to time. Their motive, the force that drove them, had been wealth beyond imagining. They had meant to obtain this wealth through us. Through our hard physical labor. Through our sweat and blood and suffering and sacrifice.

            They had failed.

            And now the Texas government was giving them another chance to succeed.

            _Though their methods at times somewhat transcended the boundaries of morality, their motives were always righteous. They have presented their case in such a fashion that it is our belief that the unfortunate occurrences connected to the facility known as Camp Green Lake were purely accidental, and that these three individuals are guilty of no more serious crimes than those for which they have now duly paid. Therefore, it is our decision that the Camp Green Lake juvenile justice facility be re-opened, its previous staff re-instated, and that its previous detainees return to serve the duration of their sentences._

Only two of us were spared.__

_            Stanley Yelnats, who was cleared of charges, and Hector Zeroni, whose file was lost in a regrettable technical mishap..._

I guess that old curse of Caveman's really was broken, then, just like he thought. At least, it certainly seemed to be done with him and Zero. They were living the good life now. But perhaps that curse hadn't really been broken at all; perhaps it had just decided to manifest itself in a new way, to come from a new angle, to strike a new group of victims.

            Of course, none of us really knew what happened. How in hell could Mr. Sir, Pendanski, and that crackpot lady who we knew only as "the Warden" come up with a strong enough court case to achieve what was, for them, a sheer miracle? How did they manage to rake in the dough for some ultra-expensive, super-powered lawyer? Or did the stars just happen to be aligned in their favor on the day of the hearing at which they were tried for child abuse, negligence, and running a state facility under false pretenses?

            There was no way we could know for sure how those three idiots pulled it off. All we knew for sure was that we...six boys technically identified as Rex, Theodore, Ricky, Alan, José, and Brian...found ourselves staring at the inside of good old D-Tent once again, sooner than we ever would have hoped or dreamed.

            As Minion once said, "Empty cookies and busted eight balls...cosmic fill-in-the-blanks."

            Of course, you haven't met Minion yet. But you will soon enough. See, things were bad enough with the unexpected little Camp Green Lake reunion. Yet they were about to become a lot more complicated than they had ever been before.


	3. Chapter Two: The Second Bombshell

Chapter Two: The Second Bombshell

**Point Of View: X-Ray**

**One Week After The First Bombshell**

September at Camp Green Lake is not a single degree cooler than July.

            I always knew there was something crazy about the place...well, all right, a lot of crazy things...but this was going beyond the limits of the term "crazy" as I knew it.

            Granted, a few other things stretched the limits of that term as well...Zigzag, for example. But even Zigzag usually at least somewhat deferred to me, as the unofficial leader of D Tent. The heat deferred to no one. Not even to the laughable images of authority to whom _we_ were expected to defer. Mom could tell the sun to have a positive attitude, and Mr. Sir could inform it that Camp Green Lake wasn't no Girl Scout camp, and the Warden could recite a whole mantra of, "Excuse me?" until she lost her voice. The sun would just keep right on beating down on all of us, and not the slightest puff of cloud would appear in deference.

            Did I mention that it didn't rain?

            No one could be sure when it had stopped, how many times it had happened since the big storm on the day that Caveman and Zero were sent home and the camp shut down. All anyone knew for certain was that not a drop had fallen since the day those three aforementioned fools were declared "reformed."

            From what I know of the whole "curse" theory...that is, what Caveman told us, at that crazy pool party of his...that disgusting word, "reformed", would have old Kate Barlow turning in her grave. But I've never been the superstitious type. I like to rely on a nice solid combination of intellect and intimidation. It's gotten me plenty of little things before, from some extra bread at dinner to a full day off from digging. I just keep my eyes open...the mental eyes, you know, the ones I can actually see out of...for opportunities. Nothing can get you further than watching for opportunities.

            Unfortunately, this was one opportunity that I happened to miss. Not that I let my guard down or nothing, mind you. It's just this particular opportunity had to come in visual form, which has always been the worst kind for me.

            Translated, that paragraph reads, "I wasn't the one who spotted the car." For the record, Zigzag was. Figures. With that long neck of his, it just figures. All of us were bent over our holes, shoveling away that damn dirt like sensible little campers, and Ziggy was up there craning that giraffe neck all over the place, probably watching for enemy planes to come zooming out of the blue and start dropping bombs on us. _Acute paranoia: _understatement of the year.

            So what does our jolly little D-Tent gang hear all of a sudden?

            "Hey, guys, look! It's a car!"

            Now, let me point out that cars do not just randomly come gliding across the vast expanse of desert in which Camp Green Lake was located. If they did, Twitch would have had us all out of there ages ago. And since this was, as I mentioned, Zigzag, the first assumption that hit me, and probably all of us, was that he'd finally cracked for good. Actually, it wouldn't have been his first hallucination.

            But at the word "car", Twitch just had to look up. I could see him out of the corner of my eye, several holes down from me, following Zig's gaze, then suddenly dropping his shovel and hauling himself out of his hole. That brought all of us out of ours, and in a moment we were gathered in a cluster, gaping like fools.

            Of course, we couldn't tell from there whether it was a _nice_ car, and as it turned out, it was far from it; but Twitch was in car withdrawal, and it only took this distant glimpse to start his whole body jerking and writhing worse than ever. Squid grabbed him by the back of the shirt out of reflex. Those creepy eyes of Zigzag's...wide, unblinking, bright electric-blue...were about twice their normal size.

            "It's the secret police," he muttered, half to himself, half to whichever among the voices in his head might disagree with him. "Undercover, man. The Warden's troops. Secret army. They're comin' to finish us off. Gonna shoot us all, straight into the holes. We been diggin' our own graves all this time."

            Armpit slung an arm around Zigzag. "Hey, man, chill," he advised earnestly. "You gotten worse since last time, y'know that?" He turned his worried gaze to me. "I don't think that bombshell last week was good for him, X."

            "Will you shut up?" I snapped. "The rest of us are tryin' to watch here."

            Let it be noted that my entire view at that moment consisted of the dust that clouded the inside of my glasses, a few feet of dust in front of me, and the blurry shapes of the other guys around me. But hey, I had a rep to protect. No one but Caveman had ever known the truth about my vision, and Caveman was gone.

            Magnet, meanwhile, had shielded his eyes with one hand. "It's gettin' closer," he informed us in his strong Spanish accent. "It's headin' this way."

            "You sure it ain't the water truck?" Rep or no rep, the opportunist in me wanted to know what was going on here.

            "It ain't the water truck," Twitch immediately scoffed, still absentmindedly struggling against Squid's grasp. "It's loads smaller'n the water truck, an' it's green, looks like a pretty old model, kinda beat-up, guess we won't be seein' another gorgeous Jag stop by here anytime soon--"

            I gritted my teeth; that kid's fast-paced, scatterbrained chatter had more than once caused _me_ to start twitching, with the urge to punch him in the face. I knew the only thing that had stopped him now was the wistful resentment accompanying his last statement; he was still mourning the injustice of never getting behind the wheel of that Jaguar. Anyway, I didn't get the chance to think about hitting him at the moment, because two slightly more interesting events occurred to distract me. The real water truck came rumbling across the camp, driven by Mr. Sir, to fill our canteens as usual. And the supposedly beat-up green car that everyone had been watching, which I had been hearing about secondhand, took a very loud and startling nose dive, straight into a hole.


	4. Chapter Three: The Bombshell Trio

A/N: _Someone's _gone update-happy! ^_^ But, yeesh, these chapters are short! Guess they ought to be, though, considering I have a stunning tally of _nine_ points of view to use throughout this story. Oh, and I know things are moving pretty slowly, what with all the description and characterization. But they'll speed up and start getting nice and exciting and plotty soon, I promise. _Much_ more dialogue in future chapters, too; I noticed it's been quite skimpy.

Shout Outs 

Kirjava~_Muchas gracias, mi amor! _Rade the review lover thanks you profusely! I'm so glad you like it, and thankee for the luck!

Naughty-By-Nature~*pounces* Thank you for the lovely review! And I'm glad you enjoy the sarcasm, though I give all the credit to X-Ray. ^-^ Thank you also for saying the story is realistic. That's what I've been trying to pull off, though it's not easy.

Nosilla~Glad you like! Did you think I'd update _this_ soon? ;-) 

Peach/Taggy~Get over here and read this, _mi hermana!_ And bring Beaver Boy…his lovely and terrifying Minion makes her appearance! ;-)

EVERYONE: Say it with me, now…"Charade makes too many faces."

**Announcement Over The Fanfiction.net Public Address System: Somewhere on this website, there is a writer wasting away, feeling unnoticed and unloved. But don't shed your tears for this writer; instead, come to her (*cough*or his) aid. Review a story today. Even _you_ can make a difference! ^_^  **

Chapter Three: The Bombshell Trio

**Point Of View: Zigzag**

_They can see it too!_

That was the first thought that hit me when everyone started babbling about the car, and it was accompanied by a powerful wave of relief. See, a few times I had seen things that other people couldn't see, and it was always real annoying. I mean, I'd be looking at something right in front of me, clear as day, and I'd say something about it, and whoever was around would look at me like I was nuts. Usually that made me lose my temper with them, and losing your temper isn't the greatest idea at Camp Green Lake. So I was glad when the car turned out to be publicly visible.

            Of course, I still figured we were done for. Who in his right mind would drive a car to Camp Green Lake? Come on, it's the middle of the desert. Ain't like we had guests dropping by for tea on a regular basis. Made sense, didn't it, the Warden wanting us all picked off? Eliminate all the witnesses. Hire one of those top-secret government agencies. Probably been communicating with 'em all along. I knew that relentless "Excuse me?" was some kind of code. Anyway, I was all set to dive into my hole and cover my head, but then came Mr. Sir with the water truck, and as it was rattling to a stop, the car crashed into a hole.

            I'm not sure what was going on before that huge crash; I think maybe my mind was wandering a little or something. But whatever my thoughts had been, the loud noise jarred me out of them. So when Mr. Sir leapt out of the water truck and rocketed off toward the wreck, hollering at us to stay back, of course I went rocketing after him along with the rest of D Tent.

            We stood in a ring around the hole, probably looking like some kind of creepy Druid gathering. Yeah, I did say "Druid." Who says I never paid attention in school? I hardly ever zoned out in history. Knew I had to be prepared, see. There are too many people from history who might be out to get you.

            Where was I...? Right! We were gathered around the hole, and Twitch looked down at that busted old green car like he'd just lost his best friend, but the rest of us were concentrating on the left passenger door to the back seat. Slowly, painstakingly, grating against the dusty bottom of the hole, that door opened. And a figure, a _living human figure, _half-climbed, half-tumbled out into the dust.

            The excited chatter was instantly silenced. Seven mouths hung open so wide that their jaws threatened to unhinge. For this figure was more than living and human. It was a _girl._

"Squid. Squid!" I pleaded wildly, turning to face the boy closest to me. "Tell me somethin', man. Is there a girl lyin' in the bottom of that hole?"

            Squid had troubles of his own; he coughed violently several times before acknowledging me. He had almost choked on his toothpick. After making sure it was securely out of his throat and protruding from the corner of his mouth like usual, he turned and clapped me on the back.

            "Yeah, Zig," he assured me. "There is."

            X-Ray, meanwhile, had pulled off his glasses and was furiously rubbing them with the corner of his orange shirt. He finished cleaning them, put them back on, stared down into the hole, frowned, then removed them again and repeated the process. Armpit was nervously eyeing Mr. Sir, whose hand was trembling and clutching his gun in a white-knuckle grip, looking uncertain as to whether our visitor was a girl or a yellow-spotted lizard. Twitch was still spazzing out like usual, eyes sweeping up and down the length of the destroyed vehicle. Magnet was laughing. That kid could laugh at anything.

            The girl dragged herself to a sitting position, gazing up at all of us with wide sapphire eyes. Blood trickled from a cut under one ear, brushing rusty stains through her wavy golden hair. She appeared dazed. Suddenly, she shook her head hard several times, gasped sharply as if in pain, winced, and collapsed back onto the sand again. At her next action, all of us jumped a mile; she let out a furious shout that must have echoed all over the desert.

            _"Minion!?!"_

Before any of us could react to the exclamation, we discovered that the surprises were far from over. I jumped again at the sight of a hand extending through the open car door, beckoning frantically. With a soft groan, the girl kind of crawled over to the door. She seemed to be listening for a moment, but whatever voice she heard was too soft to reach our ears. Then she leaned forward, into the car, and when she slowly leaned back out, she had something large cradled in her arms.

            God preserve us, it was another girl.

            This one looked younger than the first, but not by much. She was skinny and had a dark, tan-olive complexion, almost like oatmeal. **(A/N: Mush!! *grins at fellow Newsies fans* *cough* Sorry.)** Her face was framed in a short, glossy mop of dark chestnut hair. Though her chest appeared to be rising and falling, her eyes were closed; she was obviously unconscious. Which of course placed the same question into all of our minds: _Who was beckoning through the door?_

The answer presented itself almost at once. The blonde girl, who was on her knees and overwhelmed by her burden, tumbled backward, the still lifeless brunette slumped beside her, and this left a small space cleared in front of the car door. Through that door and onto the sand hopped the third and final victim of the accident.

            She was tiny.

            When I say "tiny", I mean that I had never seen any teenager, boy or girl, who was smaller, with the possible exception of Zero. I mean that _Twitch_, at a towering 5'3", had a good six inches on her.

            She was Asian, I noted from her appearance; porcelain skin, dark slanted eyes, and cascades of straight, silky jet-black hair. After the sight of her two companions, she came as somewhat of a shock. I just referred to her as the final "victim" of the accident, but that didn't seem the correct term at all. No cuts, no bruises, not so much as a _scratch_ was visible on her body. She did not look dazed, or terrified, or upset, or even mildly _ruffled,_ for God's sake. Not a drop of blood or sweat stained her face; not a lock of hair was out of place. She actually seemed perfectly calm and composed. Her mouth was relaxed in a straight line, and her eyes...I shivered the moment I met those eyes. They were blank, cold eyes..._empty. _Like two dark, secretive almond-shaped walls, trapping every shred of emotion inside. Those eyes flicked up to us, down to her two companions, then back up to us again in a motion as quick as light.

            It was then that I noted that she held something cradled to her chest. Something large, something tattered, something _yellow. _I blinked incredulously several times; the girl's security object bore an uncanny resemblance to...a _phone book?_

The unsettling silence that had fallen over the bizarre little scene was broken, as silences often were, by Squid.

            "Hey, Mr. Sir," he observed brightly, "looks like the Girl Scouts sellin' cookies."


	5. Chapter Four: Scraps and Threads

A/N: I am _so sorry_ at how little happens in this chapter. And I am even sorrier because I haven't updated since the Stone Age. To any reviewers who remain: _I love you._ So very, very much. If you _keep_ reviewing, I will love you even more. ;-) And I promise another update very soon, and more frequent updates in the future. Individual Shout Outs in the next chapter, too! For now, this is basically just another scrap to tide you over...and let me know what you think of Minion. ^_^  
  
Chapter Four: Scraps and Threads  
  
**Point Of View: Squid**  
  
"Assistance, if offered, would likely be accepted."  
  
It was the little kid who said that. Well, not little, maybe, as in young. Little as in _short._ That was the only thing I had really bothered to notice about her. My gaze had quickly darted to her two more interesting companions. That blonde was quite a sight. She wore blue jeans studded with bobby pins, a hot-pink tank top spangled with rhinestones, and over it, a long- sleeved black leather jacket. The effect was blatantly bizarre. It was an eyesore. I couldn't bear to look at it for long, so my full attention ended up on the unconscious girl in her arms.  
  
She wasn't much to look at, really. Brown hair, olive complexion, dressed all preppy and conservative in a sky-blue blouse and long skirt. Plain, ordinary, boring...I chewed my faithful toothpick, and found that I couldn't stop staring.  
  
Then, right after my automatic "Girl Scouts" wisecrack, the little Asian girl said those words: "Assistance, if offered, would likely be accepted." Weird way of putting it, but it kind of jump-started us all into action. In an instant, I had hopped over to the edge of the hole and bent down to offer my hand. It joined five other hands; suddenly all of D Tent was vying to offer their assistance.  
  
"Well, don't all volunteer at once," muttered the blonde one...the rebel, I updated my label, eyeing that jacket. Despite the blood now trickling down her face, she still managed to sound peeved about the several moments we had wasted standing there shell-shocked and useless. She looked around at us, presumably for whoever was closest and handiest, and I was startled when her eye fell on me. And, purposefully, without a single word or gesture of warning, she thrust her limp friend up into my arms.  
  
Of course, I staggered backward and came extremely close to falling over; not because the girl was heavy, which she wasn't, but because I hadn't been in any way prepared for her weight. As the other guys snickered, I righted myself, glanced down at my new cargo, and perked up a little. It's not every day you get a teenage girl dumped in your arms. Sure, she wasn't exactly gorgeous, but this was Camp Green Lake. No girls for over a hundred miles, you know? Unless, of course, you happen to count the Warden...which, believe me, you don't.  
  
While all this was running through my mind, and I was grinning like an idiot, Zigzag and X-Ray were hauling up the rebel. Magnet took one look at the last remaining chick and didn't bother with pleasantries; he just got down on his stomach, extended his arms into the hole, and swung her up like she was some kind of feather; which, at her size, she may as well have been. A feather in a black top and matching knee-length skirt, cradling this big yellow book. Go figure.  
  
It was around that time that Mr. Sir finally recovered his wits, with an action that scared me half to death: he stuffed his gun into its holster and leapt toward me. Out of pure reflex, I leapt back, my nerves going on edge. Mr. Sir...he just freaks me out. We don't exactly have the greatest record. It's especially stained by a certain incident involving stupid Magnet's klepto habits, stupid Caveman's nobleness, the Warden's nail polish, and my big mouth. Anyway, I tend to be edgy around adults in general. Never met one I liked or trusted in the least; probably never will. But I'm starting to sound like Zigzag here, getting totally off topic. Back to the action.  
  
Well, it turned out Mr. Sir wasn't after me at all. He was just trying to take that girl from me. I'd actually forgotten I was still holding her. To tell the truth, I wasn't real thrilled about handing her over to Mr. Sir, but what else was I supposed to do? The transfer took place, and then he turned impatiently toward the blonde rebel, who was still being supported by X-Ray and Zigzag; looked like she'd taken more damage than just a cut under the ear.  
  
"What's goin' on here?" he growled at her, spit flying from his mouth onto the sand. "Who are you gals, an' whadda ya think you're doin', drivin' out here in the middle of nowhere? Should I even bother addin' that not one of you looks old enough to be drivin' legally?"  
  
The expression that girl gave Mr. Sir was priceless. I wish I could learn to make really sarcastic faces like that, even if the effect of hers was slightly lessened by the fact that her face was still twisted in pain. She looked like the kind of chick who could have come up with a perfect smartass comeback on most occasions, but in her present condition, all she could manage was a grumbled, "Well, what are you all doin' out here 'in the middle of nowhere'?"  
  
Mr. Sir glared down at her. "This," he informed her, "is Camp Green Lake, a disciplinary facility for juvenile delinquents. It helps troubled youth build character."  
  
"You hear that, Minion?" the blonde spoke up brightly. "They can help you build character!" She shot a glare at the little girl, who didn't even respond. I couldn't get over that name. _Minion!? Who the hell names their kid Minion?_  
  
Well, much as he probably would have loved to continue that verbal battle, Mr. Sir apparently remembered then that he was holding some unconscious chick. Also, the position of his "opponent" was not a particularly threatening one; she still had one hand pressed to the side of her head, blood seeping between her fingers, and I doubt she would have admitted it, but it was obvious she wouldn't have been able to stand without the support she was receiving. I guess these conditions brought out a flicker of good citizenship in Mr. Sir, 'cause he looked our visitors over and announced, "You three need to get to a hospital."  
  
"Ooh...ya think?"  
  
Scowling at her, Mr. Sir raised his eyebrows at X-Ray and Zigzag and lifted his chin toward the water truck. Obediently, they led the blonde rebel over to it, and helped her into the back. Mr. Sir followed, still carrying the brunette. As he stepped up into the truck, he glanced back at the one remaining "casualty."  
  
"You comin'?" he called gruffly.  
  
Her eyes swept upward to meet his, her vision seeming to bridge the distance between them. Slowly and deliberately, she shook her head twice. Mr. Sir narrowed his eyes, ready to argue.  
  
"Erm...not to rush you or nothin', but I'm kinda bleedin' in here!"  
  
I quirked an eyebrow and suppressed a laugh as Mr. Sir turned slightly red.  
  
"Don't worry about Minion," the voice added dismissively. "She ain't hurt. The whole thing's her fault, anyway."  
  
I glanced at the girl called Minion, but these words seemed to have no effect whatsoever on her. Her expression didn't even change. They had an effect on Mr. Sir, though. He had a zonked-out girl in his arms, another bleeding in his truck, and was altogether rather impatient to get going and get them off his hands. Rolling his eyes, he shouted something about coming back for the Minion chick after seeing to her friends. Then he hopped into the truck and, without further ado, drove it off across the camp compound. We all watched until it snaked around a cluster of tents, beyond which it disappeared.  
  
As soon as the water truck was out of sight, the four remaining guys...Armpit, Magnet, Twitch, and I...directed our attention to the only sensible outlet: the so- called "Minion".  
  
"What happened?" I demanded, almost spitting out my toothpick with excitement. "Where'd y'all come from? What're y'all doin' drivin' around out here?"  
  
"You runnin' away or somethin'?" Armpit guessed. "'Cause lemme tell ya somethin', girl: Camp Green Lake ain't the place to run away to."  
  
_"Su amiga morena es muy linda_," was a grinning Magnet's sentiment; not that any of us understood it.  
  
We were all speaking so loudly and animatedly that, despite its enthusiastic tone, I barely heard Twitch hopefully toss out a question of his own: "Didja hot- wire that car?"  
  
Oddly enough, however, when her calmly raised hand silenced our interrogation, it was Twitch's question, and his only, that Minion answered. Quite deliberately, she turned to him and looked him straight in the eye till the poor kid squirmed...even more than usual, I mean.  
  
And then, she did exactly the opposite of what she had for Mr. Sir: very slowly, she nodded twice.  
  
"Yes," she replied, in that soft, cold, even voice...weirdest voice I ever heard. "Yes, we did."  
  
"Did what?" Armpit questioned blankly, then flinched when Minion turned her emotionless, icy gaze on him.  
  
"Hot-wired the car."  
  
I almost laughed at that. I guess you'd have to hear that girl's voice to know what I mean, but she sounded like...I dunno...a combination of a robot and a college professor. It was somehow real funny to hear her use a word like "hot-wired."  
  
Twitch's eyes were as wide as saucers. "Really?" he moaned enviously, hands clutching at imaginary controls.  
  
"I knew that blonde chick was a rebel the moment I saw her," I announced, smirking at Twitch. "Bet she had that car goin' faster than you ever could've."  
  
While Twitch scoffed at the absurdity of this, the rest of us had other things on our minds.  
  
"So," Magnet spoke up, "who was your friend, the one that got knocked out?" His casual tone had a distinctly false feel to it. For some reason, it ticked me off a little, but all I said was, "Yeah, who was she?"  
  
"Who cares?" scoffed Armpit. "The blonde was ten times cuter--"  
  
"What model was it?" murmured Twitch.  
  
"Toyota," Minion replied.  
  
Twitch snickered. "No loss, then."  
  
"You ever gonna tell us how you got here?" Magnet persisted.  
  
"Ain't you worried about your friends?" I suddenly thought to ask, as it occurred to me how strange it was that she had not wanted to ride in the truck with them and make sure they were all right.  
  
"How come Zig an' X got to go with them?" Armpit griped.  
  
"What's with the phone book?" murmured Twitch.  
  
"Telephone books," Minion explained, "are records of people, and the places they belong, and a simple, unique code in which each person, if stationed at the appropriate location, may be reached, and forced to listen, and to reply."  
  
Dead silence fell. Magnet turned wide, knowing brown eyes to the rest of us.  
  
"This _chica's_ as _loca_ as Zigzag!"  
  
I had to agree, although I was still trying to process everything she'd said. "I never looked at phone books quite that way before," I admitted, eyeing hers with new respect.  
  
"Is Minion your real name?" Twitch wondered.  
  
"Minion," answered Minion, "is as real a name as any you will find here."  
  
I thought I kind of understood that one. She meant it was a nickname, but the only thing she would answer to...just like ours. Hey, she'd caught on pretty quick to our whole nickname deal. Well, something gave me the feeling that she caught on pretty quick to a lot of things.  
  
"Hey," observed Magnet brightly, "Minion here's just like Zero. 'Member how he only talked to Caveman and all? Well, she only talks to Twitch."  
  
I definitely saw him gulp when those almond-shaped eyes selected him as their next victim, neatly pinning him in place like a butterfly collector pinning a specimen.  
  
And she proved Magnet's theory wrong. She spoke to him...in flawlessly accented Spanish. _"Su amigo al lado de usted piensa que __Rosa__ es interesante también."_  
  
Now, I have absolutely no idea what that kid said, but whatever it was made Magnet's dark complexion flush. And for some reason, he turned around and stared quizzically, almost suspiciously, at me.  
  
"Uh...Magnet?" I blinked, glancing from him to Minion and back. "What'd she say?"  
  
I couldn't tell too well from that poker face, but Minion seemed to be enjoying his reaction. "Oh, nothing of great importance," she assured me smoothly, and then continued as if the sound waves from all of our previous questions had not reached her ears until that moment. "My rebellious blonde companion is named Kayla. The one in whom certain parties take such interest..." Her eyes swept quickly in my direction, though I couldn't quite tell whether her gaze was meant for me or for Magnet. "...is Rose. We are runaways from a distant Texas town, who have come to be here by attempting to follow a road map which did not align with the course preferred by the stars."  
  
"You got lost," Twitch translated cheerfully.  
  
This time, I noted with a certain amount of satisfaction, he got a taste of the deaf ear she had previously turned on the rest of us. Instead of responding to him, she made an abrupt proposal.  
  
"I suspect that your friends and mine have been taken to some sort of medical facility within this camp, from which an ambulance will be contacted. It seems likely, however, that such assistance would not be soon in arriving at such an isolated location. Perhaps, in the meantime, it might be possible to locate them...your friends and mine."  
  
And with that, she turned away from us and, with a swift, graceful and purposeful gait, still clutching her precious phone book, and stepping delicately around every hole she encountered, she headed across the camp compound.  
  
We, the four remaining D-Tent boys, exchanged uneasy glances.  
  
"We ain't finished our holes," I pointed out. "Mr. Sir won't like it if we..."  
  
"Squid, buddy," Armpit interrupted, "a car just crashed into a hole an' three girls, two of 'em hurt, got dropped more or less in Mr. Sir's lap. He ain't gonna be worryin' 'bout us at the moment."  
  
Magnet and Twitch seemed to be in agreement. The three of them took off after that little freak...and what could I do but follow?  
  
A/N: I know...so uneventful! :-( _Lo siento_! But please do let me know what you think, of the couple small plot developments that are just budding, and of course, of creepy little Minion-chan.


End file.
